Fever
by Wu the Stoic
Summary: After being wounded in battle, Quatre makes his way back to the safe house during a blizzard, only to be trapped in the badly damaged Sandrock before he can get out of the cold. I don't own anything to do with Gundam Wing, it belongs to its respective owners. This is just a work of fiction.
1. Chapter 1

The sudden, brisk snap of an electrical conduit blowing complimented the roar of silence. The battle was in the final throes, but Sandrock was down for the count.

"Heero had no choice," Quatre reasoned to himself in a strained voice. "I was too slow, and there were too many mobile dolls." He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the damage to his cock pit where the buster rifle's beam had merely clipped when Heero fired at the barrage of enemies. The left side was demolished, twisted metal and wires were pressed into him, holding him in his seat. Warmth trickled down his side and he closed his eyes again with a resigned smile. The people they were protecting had survived.

Trowa's face glimmered into the ruined screen in front of Quatre, his image flickering in and out among the cracks as he gave orders to Duo, who was only too happy to oblige in wiping out the rest of the dolls still plaguing them.

"Quatre?"

"Yeah, Trowa?" Quatre grimaced, though his voice was pert and upbeat.

"I need you to go with Heero and see if there are any survivors in that warehouse that Deathscythe fell into.

"I… I'm… sorry, Trowa, I can't," Quatre apologized. "I took some damage; it's going to take everything Sandrock has to make it back to the safe house.

"I understand," Trowa said after a long beat of silence. "I'll meet you back there when we're done here. It shouldn't take too long," he said the latter in a carefree, matter of fact tone.

When his image blinked out, Quatre leaned forward and gave in to the agony rolling through his left side. He inhaled deeply, slowly; grateful a lung wasn't punctured, and then expelled the long held breath sharply. It came out in a shuddering stream. "This is bad," he whispered. "This is very bad. C'mon, Sandrock, let's get to the safe house, I think we've…" he stifled a groan of pain, and then held still as his vision tried to blur around the edges. "We've… had a hard day," he finished lamely.

The Gundam turned and slowly began to walk towards the forest. Snow was falling hard, and even if Quatre had a good view from the cameras projecting the images back to him in the cockpit, he still would have had a hard time navigating the pristine white curtain that pelted around him in a maniac's glee. As it was, he was going by GPS alone. Each heavy step sent waves of pain up his body from the metal debris and wires pinning him to his chair as they reverberated the shockwaves of the multi-ton mobile suit. There was no way to move the left arm, flying was impossible with the amount of damage taken. Quatre paused and leaned his head back onto the head rest, closing his eyes and forcing his body to calm. His heart hammered rapidly in his chest due to his injuries and blood loss, and now that the adrenaline from battle was ebbing, the pain was rearing its ugly head.

"Just a little more to go, I can do it," he encouraged himself as he gripped the right handle and began to depress the floor pedals. "I can do it, just a little more."

He continued the pep talk for another hour until his concentration was halted by a shrill beeping. He opened his eyes and stared at the image of his screen, not sure if the snow he saw was of hardware malfunction or actual snow. He was cold, the life support systems already failing. Not that he needed them to breathe, but the heat would have been nice. The warm pool at his side was almost dried and had long frozen to him. Gripping the lever again, he turned it inward at the same time his thumb popped open a cover to press a small button and he braced himself for the impact as Sandrock suddenly took a hard knee. Both heads bowed, the green light going out of the heavy Gundam's while Quatre closed his own. He felt like vomiting, and it seemed as if it took forever for the wave of nausea to wash over him, leaving him with a wet heavy feeling in his mouth instead.

" _What can I tell them, that I'm hurt?"_ he questioned himself mentally. It felt wrong to utter those words. Quatre was gentle and kind, but did he consider himself this weak? To declare to his friends "I'm hurt, help me!" No. He was a soldier, a compassionate warrior dedicated to his beliefs, who would fight for his friends and his cause until he fell to his knees, and then continue the fight. He decided that he could at least try to get out of his mobile suit while still under his own power. Thankfully the hatch release was on his right side, hopefully undamaged. He was relieved to hear the pop-hiss as the outer doors opened, but the gangway was damaged beyond repair, all it would allow Quatre was a two foot clearance.

"Damnit," he uttered softly, the curse foreign on his tongue, but at the moment, it felt like the right thing to say. He balled his right fist, bringing the side of it down upon the console in a vain attempt to make this whole mess go away. The only thing he accomplished was to prove to himself that he, like Sandrock, had fallen. They needed help. Leaning his head back against the headrest, Quatre let out another shuddering sigh as a frustrated look of defeat crossed his features while he gazed up into his Gundam.

"Hey, Quatre made it back in one piece," Duo noted as they brought their mobile suits in. Deathscythe took a knee in the snow, and then covered up its upper body with both sets of wings.

"Hm," Heero murmured thoughtfully as he took in the damage his buster rifle had done to 04. The beam had barely clipped the Gundam for all the damage it had caused. For one, terrifying moment, Heero could only cringe within his heart as he opened fire. Well aimed fire. He trusted Quatre to get out of the way, but Quatre wasn't aware that his thrusters had been damaged. Two had been blown completely off by enemy fire. "So _that_ was the cause of his slow response time," Heero said to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched on screen as Duo and Trowa went down their grappling lines to land in snow that was up to their knees.

Good thing this safe house was well stocked. With this storm, it looked like they could be here for a while.

"I don't know about you, Trowa," Duo said as he pulled into himself as he stalked through the heavy snow to the house. "But I'd _much_ rather be on a beach somewhere. In the nude," he tossed back to Heero just to get a rise out of the stoic pilot. He paused and frowned when he realized that Heero was standing with his back to them, the bitter wind tousling already tousled locks, and staring up to Sandrock.

"Hey, Heero, are you out of your mind? It's freezing out here! We'll worry about repairs tomorrow, they won't find us tonight at least, not in _this_ weather."

"Something's wrong," Heero called back over the wind. Trowa, who had paused out of the same curiosity as Duo, turned his glance from Heero and to the cabin. There was no path.

"There are no footsteps," Trowa announced. "No trench where he walked through."

"He's still in his Gundam," Heero said as he trudged to the wounded beast. Sandrock had been in the storm long enough for snow to pile into drifts over its feet, Heero had to dig to get to the grapping panel, his frozen fingers hitting the button with practiced ease. The line came down smoothly. "The hatch is open, but the gangplank is still up."

"You don't think he's hurt, do ya?" Duo asked softly as he watched Heero go up.

"Get a med kit," Trowa said softly. "Quick. I'll get mine as well."

Duo nodded and darted back to Deathscythe.

When Heero reached the gangplank, he gripped the edge in his hand and pulled, earning himself a few more inches before the crumpled Gundanium decided that it would give no more. There was a pop, a crackle and perhaps under all that, a soft groan. He pulled himself up to the widest part of the hole and peered in.

Quatre was slumped in his seat with his chin resting against his right shoulder, his left shoulder and side were impaled by twisted metal. His face took on an unearthly guise as shadows cast different contrasts to his features in the stuttering light of more protesting electrical wires that had burned away. With no conduit, they simple arched electricity from time to time as the system continued to do self-testing procedures. Warning lights blinked in silence, the alarms broken from the impact.

"Quatre," Heero called as he slipped into the tight cockpit. He reached out to touch the young pilot, but with his own fingers numb, he couldn't tell how cold the blond was with any accuracy. "What the hell did you _do_ , Quatre?" he scolded as his fingers came down to the pale throat to test for a pulse. He leaned in closer when the blond brows furrowed weakly. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"Heero?" Trowa called up.

The Japanese pilot rose carefully so he could stick his head out of the gap of the door. "He's hurt. Bad. We'll need some tools to get him out. Bolt cutters and a torch."

"A torch?" Duo asked, frowning heavily. He turned to Trowa, but the taller man was already running to Heavyarms to get what was needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Heero remained inside the cockpit, noting that the temperature had to be in the single digits. His own body temperature had fallen so rapidly that he barely exhaled steam as he breathed, but in order to be able to squeeze in, he had had to shed his flight suit, and had instructed Trowa to do the same. He wasn't concerned so much for himself however; Quatre had been pinned in the Gundam for perhaps an hour with the hatch open. He pushed the fear far away as his hands busied with the ruin of metal by Quatre's left shoulder.

"If you can hear me, say my name," Heero instructed.

There was a breath, a soft whispering sound that answered him.

"Say my name," Heero repeated patiently.

"heero…" Quatre whispered, his voice pitiful and full of pain.

Heero nodded his head, satisfied. "We're going to get you out of here. Trowa's coming with a blow torch, you're tied in tight."

"sorry… so sorry…"

"Just be thankful you're in your space suit, it kept you from developing frost bite," Heero answered as a chunk of metal came loose, freeing Quatre's shoulder. He leaned out and tossed it aside, where it landed at Duo's feet.

"What can I do, Heero?"

"Go back to the cabin, there's nothing to do out here. Trowa and I will carry him back in. Prepare the kitchen table, I'm going to have to do field surgery."

"Got it," Duo called up, and then turned on his heel and ran for the cabin.

"not your fault," Quatre whispered. Heero's face was close to his, they were nearly cheek to cheek as the Japanese pilot leaned diagonally over the slender blond's frame to continue pulling debris away so they could extradite the young man from his machine. Heero didn't answer, but only began to pull at the metal with more force, grunting with effort in the cramped cockpit.

"Heero, I have the torch and a blanket," Trowa said as soon as the grapple finished pulling him up. He stuffed the blanket into the hole so they could cover Quatre while they cut away the twisted wreckage. "How badly is he hurt?"

Heero pulled the blanket through, cutting his eyes to Trowa. "Bad," he answered. There was barely room for one pilot, but now the cockpit suffered three.

"Quatre… it might get ugly in here," Heero warned as he opened the blanket, spreading it out over the slender frame. "Trowa's going to hold the fire extinguisher in case the blanket catches fire."

Quatre simply nodded his head slowly, understanding.

"I just want to prepare you."

"it's okay," Quatre whispered.

"Don't go to sleep, Quatre," Trowa spoke up as he threaded the hand held the propane torch through the bodies and twisted debris to Heero's waiting hand. He gripped the small extinguisher and held it by his side. "I have the bolt cutters at the ready," he said to Heero as he held Quatre's dimming gaze.

"Good," Heero grunted as he clicked the torch to life. The flame was too close to the blanket covering Quatre's face for his liking, but he pressed on. "Duo's getting the table ready for us, I'll cut him loose, then cut the rest of it out of him when we get him inside."

Trowa nodded as his hand went down Quatre's arm, finding his gloved hand and holding it gently.

Duo moved methodically about the kitchen, first scrubbing down the table and then throwing a clean blanket over it. He grabbed a pillow from his room and put it at one end while a large aluminum pot heated water on the stove. This was a well-stocked safe house, Wufei's doing no doubt. Wufei, always prepared for war and what it would bring. When Duo opened the large tackle box full of surgical instruments, gauze, bandaging and other assorted items, he let out a soft whistle. "Wufei, you are the _best_ ," he whispered. "Now Heero won't have to use a butter knife." The phrase would have struck him as funny had he not been serious.

"Pull, Trowa," Heero grunted. "Pull!"

There was a shriek of tortured metal and then a loud pop as it released. Two hours had passed since they began their burden of birthing Quatre from Sandrock. Heero and Trowa were panting, dripping sweat as they worked as gently and fervently as they could. Quatre had slipped in and out of consciousness while he was pressed against his seat beneath their bodies.

"He's bleeding again," Heero said. "I can't hold pressure to the wound, too much metal is in the way."

"Are his legs free?" Trowa asked. For one brief, horrible moment, he realized that he couldn't turn around and the thought of them trapped in the cockpit gave him a terrible feeling of claustrophobia. All this work and they'd suffered in vain. Quatre would die here, beneath them, finally free of the wreckage pinning him. All because Trowa couldn't turn around to get to the opening. He felt his pulse rise in his throat, hammering in his ears, his breathing growing hard in sharp pants. Heero was too busy to see his panic, Heero wasn't afraid. Trowa froze when he felt the slight pressure against his chest and he turned his head quickly, gazing down to Quatre with large eyes.

"What is it?" Trowa asked after swallowing around a thick wad of uncharacteristic anxiety jammed into his throat.

"it's okay," Quatre said, mouthing the word now more than speaking it. "calm down."

That order; patient, trusting. Trowa nodded his head, feeling foolish for a moment, but human at the same time. He wasn't depending on blind instinct in battle, he was just trying to turn around in a too tight space to escape and had made a miscalculation.

"His legs are free," Heero answered. "We can get him out."

Trowa nodded once, his hand over Quatre's still pressed to his chest. "Just a little while longer, Quatre, and then we can get inside, where it's warm."

A faint hint of a smile answered him as Quatre's lashes fluttered. Trowa turned easily and then went head first through the narrow gap. "If you can lift him up, I'll take him down."

"Just mind where he's impaled," Heero said as he put his arms beneath Quatre's shoulders and lifted him. His own body was starting to scream at him with exhausted exertion, but he pressed on. They had one harrowing moment where Quatre's thick suit caused a slight problem by not compressing down enough to allow the blond to slip through the two foot gap with its bulk. Heero didn't miss a beat as he pulled out a knife and began to cut it away from the unconscious form. Once free, Trowa held Quatre to his side and went down the rope as quickly as he could, Heero following after him. Duo was waiting for them at the door as they trudged through knee deep snow.

"The tables ready. Wufei had a surgery kit stashed away. I boiled down everything I thought you'd need, and got a station set up," he said as they bustled past him into the house. Duo shut the door against the cold night as Trowa gently laid Quatre onto the table.

"I'll cut off his clothes. Duo, when this is over, I need to put him in a tub of luke warm water."

"When Heero's sewing him up, I'll have it ready for him," Duo said grimly as he watched Heero remove Quatre's boots.


End file.
